


Snowdrops

by variksenkello



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Coping with trauma, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Mentions of past abuse, POV Sansa Stark, Post-War for the Dawn, theon is alive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-21 13:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18703645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/variksenkello/pseuds/variksenkello
Summary: "Live for me, Theon. For me, if not for yourself", she had said to him before the war, knowing full well the stupid ideas of honor men so often held dear.Now she feared he might start to think he had lived for nothing.Set after the War for the Dawn. Everyone lives and must learn to live with their pasts.





	Snowdrops

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to go into depths of how I feel about 8x03 but let me just say this.  
> You learn to live with your mistakes and you learn from them. You redeem by doing better, doing what you think is right. (Not by dying.)
> 
> This is Sansa and Theon, taking their time to heal and cope with their trauma. This is also kinda all over the place.

Despite herself she had hoped once more for a fairy tale ending. Hoped that somehow a victory would erase past pain and misery altogether and they could start anew. Alas, war never ceased to bring on more sorrow even for the victorious. There were people to mourn, mouths to feed and homes burnt to ashes.

 

Unrelenting thumping, clinking and clamor had filled the castle of Winterfell for days on end. Many men and women were singing while they worked, and each passing day their tunes became a little less somber.

 

Sansa was standing on the parapet, overlooking the reconstruction works. At least that’s what she should have been doing, had her mind not been tormented by something else.

 

Knowing of no tomorrow had brought odd solace. Stillwind between two storms. Now the promise of a new dawn weighed heavy on her shoulders. She had not prepared for the aftermath of not dying. She was Lady of Winterfell now, and they all looked at her to guide them forward.

 

Maester Wolkan was pointing and telling her something – _something of importance, and she knew she should have listened_ – and she found herself nodding. The only words she could hear, however, were her own, to the one person she wanted to guide forward the most, had she known how.

 

 _"Live for me, Theon. For me, if not for yourself_ _"_ , she had said to him before the war, knowing full well the stupid ideas of honor men so often held dear.

Now she feared he might start to think he had lived for nothing.

 

Her body had turned into driftwood, damp and rotting – not warming up anyone, not anything, not anymore. When Theon had tried to touch her she had flinched and he had retreated. The kiss they had shared before the war was so little, and now she couldn't even give him that. It was another promise draping over her, much like the foreboding clouds over the horizon.

 

She had built a fortfress of leather and furs for her body, and him--

him--

 

"I can't stand the sight of him", she heard Arya behind her, not bothering to hide the disgust in her voice.

Sansa looked down at the stables where some men were drinking and making a ruckus. It seemed young Greyjoy had vowed to be the drunkest, rowdiest fool of them all. Every time she had seen him he had been either drunk or racing to get there. He wouldn’t look her in the eye.

"How could you have forgiven him? I don't understand", her little sister went on, huffing.

How could she understand, the one with the list?

The truth was, she had no other choice but to forgive.

 

Whatever Ramsay had done to her, he had done to him. The way he had reduced them... Theon was the only one who had seen the other Sansa, the one on her knees, sobbing and begging for death. The one she intended to keep hidden for the rest of her days. Sometimes she had to remind herself that she was _not_ what Ramsay had treated her as. She was not a plaything, nor a weakling. She did _not_ deserve it. To see the human in herself, she needed to see the human in Theon. She had to look him into the eye if she ever wished to look at herself. So she had forgiven, simple as that.

 

"You will. Just give him time", Sansa said in a tone she knew must have furiated Arya. "Just give him time”, she repeated, more to herself than anyone else.

The wicked club rolled her eyes but said nothing.

”He saved my life, you know”, Sansa added wryly once Arya had turned her back. ”If it makes any difference to you.”

Arya pulled a face but coming from her, Sansa knew it was from a place of love.

 

She turned to Maester Wolkan who had been politely waiting for the she-wolfs to finish bickering.

”I hear your concerns, Maester, and I will get back to them once I’ve had some time to think.”

The old man bowed his head.

”You have done well, Lady Sansa”, he told her with the kindest smile. She bit her lip to keep tears at bay.

”Thank you.”

If only her father and mother were there to tell her that.

 

She left the parapet and went to the Godswood as she often did when she needed to find some peace. The roar of rebuilding died away as the ancient silence of the woods surrounded her. She already felt like she could breathe a little deeper. She kneeled down, closed her eyes and whispered her prayers to the Old Gods. She prayed for the lost and she prayed for the living.

 

The frozen leaves rustled behind her and she startled. Theon stepped into the opening, his face pale and hollow. He looked somehow uneasy, like he had been caught.

_Does he c_ _o_ _me here to find some peace, too?_

 

”I’m sorry, Lady Sansa. Didn’t want to bother you”, he said in a rugged voice that was not his. He held his head low and his eyes on his feet, and for a fleeting moment she thought she saw the shadow of the other Theon, the one with another name. Was that why he did not want to look at her? Was he afraid of what he might see in her eyes? The thought made her flinch. Did he not know that for her he had only ever been Theon?

”No--” she said, afraid he would turn and leave, and she’d lose him forever. ”Stay. Please.”

 

She wasn’t sure at all that he would, and when he finally sat down across her, she sighed from relief. He rested his head against the Hearttree and closed his eyes. His expression was one of agony, not one of peace. They shared many ghosts, Theon and her, but at least some of hers had friendly faces.

”I should have--”

”No”, Sansa said firmly. She stood up and clenched her fists. She knew what he was about to say and she did not want to hear it. ”No, Theon. You should have not. Dead men are only good for songs, and I have no need for songs now. At least not for the sad ones.”

”What is a man like me good for, then? I’m not sure I am a man at all anymore”, he said spitefully.

Sansa kneeled before him.

”Look at me, Theon. Look at me!”

His stare was a black void when he did.

”I need you to fight for me. Fight _with me,_ Theon. Please.”

Her voice started to falter but she kept going.

”I need you to be strong. I need you to live through it. How else can I do it? We can’t--”, she drew breath, fighting back sobs, ”we can’t let him win, you hear me?”

”Why do I feel like he already has?” Theon muttered. The burning he had tried so hard to numb distorted his face. Sansa touched his knee, and the small act of kindness was all that was needed to make him cave in. He buried his face into her hands.

 

Her heart had turned into a wasteland, ice-bound and fruitless, and she had doubted that nothing would ever take root there again. Now she remembered how she once made the frozen ground below her window grow snowdrops in the midst of winter, and how she used to make all of Winterfell bloom like Highgarden with only her mind’s eye. Maybe there was hope for her sorry heart.

He cried into her hands, and she thought of the first rain.

**Author's Note:**

> Just so you know, the exchange between Sansa and Arya is by no means intended to be hate for her character. I think Arya is a little more sharp around the edges and it'd take her time to forgive Theon. She doesn't really know him that well and doesn't have the same experience with him as Sansa. Also, I think people have their fundamental right to forgive in their own time or even not to forgive at all, and they have their right to their feelings of hatred as well. 
> 
> I'm planning to add two more chapter to this in my own time but for now it's a stand-alone.


End file.
